In the summer of 2024, the United States was gripped by a sense of déjà vu that echoed dark chapters of its political history. Twice in the span of just a few months, Donald J. Trump—former president and then-presumptive Republican nominee—became the target of assassination plots. One attempt left him bloodied but alive on a Pennsylvania stage. The other was foiled just in time in Florida. These two events, separated by geography but united in intent, not only reshaped the trajectory of a volatile election year but also reignited a national conversation about political violence, security, and symbolism in American life.
The Rally in Butler
It was a humid evening on July 13, 2024, when Trump took the stage at a campaign rally outside Butler, Pennsylvania. He had long favored large, open-air venues where he could connect with crowds in what had become signature performances. That night, as he spoke about border security and the economy, gunfire cracked through the summer air. A bullet grazed the top of his right ear, leaving a bloodied trail down his cheek. Another round struck and killed a rallygoer. Chaos erupted.
The shooter, Thomas Matthew Crooks—a 20-year-old with no prior criminal record—had positioned himself on a rooftop over 400 feet from the stage. He fired eight shots with an AR-15-style rifle before being fatally shot by a local law enforcement sniper. Despite the presence of Secret Service teams, the rooftop had not been adequately secured, and the attacker had managed to breach the perimeter, set up position, and fire nearly a dozen rounds before being stopped.
Photographs of Trump moments after the attack—clenching his fist, blood running down his face—instantly became iconic. They were printed on T-shirts, posters, and campaign banners. Supporters hailed him as defiant and unbreakable, likening him to historical figures who had survived attempts on their lives. The visual message was clear: he had faced death and stood tall.
The Quiet Plot in Florida
Just two months later, a second attempt unfolded quietly in Florida, this time without a single shot fired—but with arguably more sinister planning. On September 15, 2024, federal agents intercepted 58-year-old Ryan Wesley Routh near a venue where Trump was scheduled to appear. Hidden in the area was a carefully constructed sniper nest: ceramic tiles to hide heat signatures, a GoPro to record the act, and an SKS-style rifle with optics for long-range targeting. This was not the improvisation of a lone actor; it was a premeditated operation that mirrored tactics from military doctrine.
According to federal filings, Routh had also inquired about obtaining heavier weapons—including a rocket-propelled grenade and a Stinger missile. He was arrested before Trump arrived at the venue and later charged with attempted assassination, domestic terrorism, and illegal weapons procurement. His trial, currently scheduled for September 2025, is expected to bring to light further disturbing details about his motivations and possible network.
Security and Symbolism
In the aftermath of both events, intense scrutiny fell upon the United States Secret Service and federal law enforcement. A bipartisan task force reviewing the Butler shooting found significant gaps in perimeter security and aerial surveillance. Rooftop access points had been overlooked, and intelligence warnings about potential threats in the area had gone unheeded. Officials acknowledged the chilling possibility: had the assailant been better trained, the outcome could have been catastrophic.
These twin plots revealed more than just individual acts of violence—they exposed systemic vulnerabilities in the security architecture surrounding high-profile political figures. They also forced uncomfortable questions about the normalization of political violence in a country where ideological rhetoric often teeters on the edge of extremism.
Perhaps most strikingly, the public reaction—especially in the wake of the Butler shooting—did not fracture along the deep partisan lines that typically define American discourse. A computational analysis of social media reaction in the days following the shooting revealed a surprising degree of unity: messages of concern, sympathy, and even admiration for Trump came from across the political spectrum. Some analysts described it as a “brief thaw” in the nation’s cold civil war.
A Larger Conspiracy?
The story did not end with two isolated actors. Just weeks after the second attempt, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu publicly alleged that Iran had orchestrated both plots through proxy actors in retaliation for the U.S. drone strike that killed Quds Force commander Qassem Soleimani in 2020. These explosive claims were partially echoed in leaked intelligence assessments suggesting Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps had “aspirational ties” to Crooks and Routh, although no concrete operational link has yet been confirmed. Tehran, for its part, denied all involvement, calling the accusations baseless provocations.
Regardless of the truth behind these claims, the specter of foreign involvement intensified the gravity of the situation and justified renewed calls for increased counterterrorism funding and intelligence reform.
Reflections on a Dangerous Profession
In interviews following the Butler shooting, Trump—never one to shy away from spectacle—told reporters that “being president is a very dangerous profession.” According to insiders, he later demanded a CT scan of his brain after the shooting, joking that it might double as an IQ test. The quip was classic Trump: brash, irreverent, and oddly disarming. But behind it lay a truth that American presidents—and candidates—live with a daily risk that most citizens rarely contemplate.
These assassination attempts have become more than footnotes in the 2024 campaign. They are now pivotal moments—reminders of the personal stakes, the fragility of public life, and the haunting legacy of violence that runs through American political history. Whether these events ultimately reshape the political map remains to be seen. But for Trump and his followers, they have already taken on a mythic dimension. In their telling, Trump did not just survive—he emerged, bloodied and unbowed, as a kind of American revenant.